Coming Back To Life
by Morwen Tindomerel
Summary: Boromir has been sent back to Middle Earth, now he must deal with the differences twenty years have made and his own uncertain destiny. An idiosyncratic mixture of book and movie canon with a great deal of my own fanon thrown in. Unfinished.
1. A Lonely Homecoming

Boromir entered his city concealed beneath the hooded green cloak of a Ranger of the North, riding well back among the escort where he would attract no notice. But he was still close enough to see the stiff set of Faramir's shoulders and the fixed quality of his smile as he acknowledged the ovation of their people, riding at the King's right hand.

Boromir sighed. He knew what Faramir wanted him to do, and he was right, but Boromir lacked the courage to face his people and admit how bitterly he'd failed them. Surely he had the right to spare himself that much? But of course it was equally unthinkable for him to conceal his dishonor and accept their love and homage as if nothing had changed, and that left silence and concealment as his only option, unless he chose to stay away altogether.

He sighed again. Doubtless that would have been the wisest and most honorable course but he couldn't do it. He'd been longing for the white walls of his city almost from the day he'd left her to ride north to his doom. He had to see Minas Tirith one last time before he resigned himself to a life of exile in the North. But the Minas Tirith he remembered had vanished along with the air of desolation and forboding that had brooded over his city as long as he could remember. This was Minas Anor, the Tower of the Sun, the southern seat of the High King of the West shining like a jewel on the grey knee of Mindolluin.

The broad avenues of her five lower circles were lined with sparkling white buildings all aflutter with brightly colored banners, windows crowded with cheering, happy Gondorim, and shaded by tall trees that filled the air with a spicy scent. Boromir ducked his head, surreptitiously wiping away his tears. That was one oath he had kept. He had indeed restored the glory of Gondor - by giving her back her King.

--

The Court of the Tree had undergone the same joyful transformation as the rest of the city. The withered dead husk Boromir remembered had bloomed into a mighty Tree, straight and shapely with ivory bole, green and silver leaves, and clusters of pearl white blossoms. His eyes filled again, blurring his vision of this symbol of Gondor renewed, but was quickly distracted by a small hand slipping into his.

"Do you like it?" Pippin asked. The Man smiled down at him.

"Very much." but his Hobbit friend shook his head impatiently and pointed. "Not the Tree. That!"

'That' was a statue set near the fountain under the boughs of the Tree. An armed man carved in luminous white stone, a shield emblazoned with the Tree and Stars on his arm, hand resting on the hilt of a long sword. It took Boromir a few moments to recognize the sternly impassive features as his own.

"Merry and I've never been too fond of it," Pip nattered on, "it's not at all the way we remember you."

"Nor how I remember myself." Boromir managed, struggling with outrage and dismay. What had Faramir and Aragorn been thinking to permit this - this near blasphemy!

--

"Blasphemy? surely that's rather to strongly put, my brother." Faramir said calmly watching Boromir agitatedly pace the floor of his study.

"I think not." was the grim answer. "In any case such honors are reserved for the dead."

"You were dead, Boromir, for nigh on twenty years." Faramir leaned forward, hands planted flat on the dark grained surface of his writing table. "Come back to life, show yourself to our people, and I'll have it removed."

Boromir stopped pacing, torment clear on his face. "I beg you, Faramir, do not demand that of me, I cannot bear it."

The younger brother frowned, both puzzled and concerned. "Bear what? What do you fear so?" Before Boromir could answer - assuming he'd meant to - the door opened admitting Arandil with his mother on his arm and his siblings crowding at their heels. Little Feiniel, the only daughter, was in the arms of her favorite aunt, Boromir and Faramir's foster sister Idril.

Eowyn gave a little gasp as her brother-by-marriage turned to face her, then ran to his arms. "Boromir! Oh I can hardly believe it!" she stepped back to look up at him, smiling through her tears. "It's almost like having Theodred back again."

"He was so proud of you," Boromir told her, grinned reminiscently "furious at your risking yourself so - but proud too. His little sister the Nazgul Bane."

Eowyn blinked, confused, then her eyes widened in comprehension. "You...you saw him? There in the Dark Halls."

Boromir nodded. "And Theoden King too, but they did not linger long." he said gently. "They died with honor and left their people in good hands, there was nothing to keep them from passing quickly to the Halls of their Fathers."

Eowyn stared up at him with frightened eyes, swallowed, then lifted her chin defiantly. She refused to be afraid of a Man she'd known all her life, sworn brother to her brother, even if he had been to the Dark Halls and spoken with the dead. "That's good to hear." she gave him one more hug, to prove to them both she wasn't afraid, then turned to present her sons. "Here are your nephews; Cirion and Aglahad and Rohandur."

The first two were the image of their mother; golden haired and freckled adolescents vibrant with energy. But the youngest boy had a serious, intent look Boromir found very familiar. He smiled. "I suppose you're tired of people telling you how like your father you are, Rohandur."

The nine year old gave him a small, reluctant grin in return. "A little."

"Then I'll spare you." Boromir turned to mock frown at the older boys. "But these two remind me of a little girl I once knew, who used to tag along after her brothers determined to do everything they did from sword fighting to horse breaking." his eyes twinkled as they met Eowyn's over her boys' heads and she laughed.

"Mother says we're much more trouble than she and Uncle Eomer ever were." said Aglahad, rather smugly.

Boromir's eyebrows lifted. "I find that very hard to believe."

"You'll see." said Eowyn dryly. Idril had put the four year old only daughter gently on her feet beside her mother. "And this is our Feiniel."

Boromir went down on one knee to gently kiss a small white hand. "I am honored, my Lady." and the little girl giggled delightedly.

Faramir smiled to himself. He'd forgotten how good Boromir was with children. The pity was he'd never had any of his own. Well perhaps he'd have the chance to change that now. He glanced at Idril. So did Boromir.

Their foster sister looked exactly as Boromir remembered her, small and slender with dark hair primly braided and those wide, startling, smoky golden eyes. She smiled her familiar warm but restrained smile and stood on tip-toe to give him a firm, sisterly kiss on the cheek. "Welcome home, brother."

--

Aragorn was every bit as unhelpful as Faramir. "For myself I think the honor well merited." he said, voice pitched Ranger low for only Boromir's ears alone. They stood, side by side, in the Court of the Tree surveying the statue shaded by its boughs. "I grant you it's a poor likeness."

"That's not the point." Boromir said doggedly, keeping his own voice low because of the Fountain guards. "Aragorn, you know what I did."

"Yes, I do." the King turned to face him. "You fought valiantly and won a victory few Men have equalled. Boromir, you've made your atonement. Frodo has forgiven you, it's time you forgave yourself."

"I have." the younger man sat down on one of the benches flanking the fountain, looking unhappily up at his King. "But that doesn't mean I want the story known, or to accept honors that might not be offered were the full truth told."

"I think I understand." Aragorn sat beside him. "You give your people to little credit, Boromir."

"Perhaps. I can't take the chance." The King's eyes, clear and grey as the water in the fountain basin, met his. "I won't force you to do anything against your will, my friend."

"Thank you, my Lord." Both Men turned their heads sharply as a gate opened and Boromir checked the hood overshadowing his face, but it was only Pippin.

"You said you wanted to see something of the city." the Hobbit reminded them.

"So I did." Boromir got to his feet, adding to Aragorn. "Pippin has agreed to be my guide."

"A good choice. I hear he knows every inn and tavern in the seven circles."

Boromir laughed. "That I do believe." And Pippin stuck his tongue out at the King of the West before leading his friend through the main gate and down the tunnel to the sixth circle.

--

Boromir felt like a ghost, wandering unknown and unseen through the city that had once been his own. There had been a great many changes, all for the better. But as the tour continued, Pippin chattering happily at his side, it became clear that this new Minas Anor had neither place nor need for him. Boromir wondered, with a momentary surge of self-pity, if there was a place for him anywhere in all Middle Earth then shook off the mood by an act of will. That was nonsense, his place was with his King, serving him however and wherever Aragorn thought fit. The world steadied, and he was able to smile down at Pippin. "My feet are getting tired, Little Friend, might we find one of those inns or taverns of yours and get a mug of ale?"

Pippin was well known at the place he picked, The Winged Helm on a side street of the fourth circle, and soon they were seated at a table for two in a corner of the Common Room with Pippin cheerfully working his way through half a dozen dishes while Boromir sipped at his tankard. He kept his hood up of course, but didn't realize a brace of candles in a wall sconce were illuminating his face until he chanced to catch the eye of a City Guardsman across the way, staring at him as if transfixed.

Boromir's heart skipped a beat as he recognized the Man. Bruithwir was his name, of the Second Company, and he'd served under Boromir at Osgilliath. He forced himself to return the Man's stare with as forbidding a frown as he could produce. Bruithwir started, flushed, and muttering an apology hurried from the room. Pippin looked after him round eyed, then at Boromir. "A member of my old command," he explained in an undertone. "I fear he recognized me."

The Hobbit's eyes darted nervously round the room but nobody else seemed to be taking any notice of them. "Stupid of me, I should have remembered the City Guard frequents this place. Do you want to leave?"

"Not just yet. So sudden a departure would attract notice and perhaps suspicion." he forced himself to take another swallow of ale. "Besides you haven't finished your afternoon tea or whatever you call it."

The next day Arandil reported a rumor going round the Companies of a King's Ranger who bore a startling resemblance to the late Lord Boromir but that seemed to be the only repercussion. Still Boromir never again left the citadel and rarely set foot outside the Steward's house.

"He lives like a prisoner." Faramir complained, giving a very credible imitation of his brother as he restlessly paced the floor of the King's Privy Chamber.

"He is ashamed." the King said quietly from his great chair behind the writing table. "As your or I would be had we an oathbreaking on our conscience." he raised a hand to forestall Faramir's hot protest. "Yes, it was the Ring's doing but still he is ashamed. And he fears the condemnation of his people."

"So that's what he cannot bear." the Steward said enlightened. His eyes filled. "My brother is a fool, our people worshipped the ground he tread, they would forgive him anything."

"Are you so certain?" Aragorn probed gently. "You yourself concealed the full story of what happened at Parth Galen."

Faramir hesitated. "It was Frodo's wish and -"

"And you feared your people would not understand." the King cut in quietly. "You and I both felt the power of the Ring, Faramir, we know only to well the Enemy he faced and vanquished, as few Men have done. But those who have not had that experience might indeed presume to judge him and condemn unjustly. You wanted your brother to be remembered as the hero he is, even if it meant concealing his greatest feat." Faramir bowed his head and Aragorn continued; "Boromir has been through enough. I think we must respect his wishes in this matter."

"As my King pleases." said the Steward, but none to happily.


	2. An Embassy and Secrets Discovered

"Fact is," Pippin told Eowyn's sons confidentially, "I was a bit nervous of your Uncle Boromir at first. I hadn't known many Big Folk in those days and he is very tall and rather intimidating." Cirion and Aglahad turned to look consideringly at their uncle, as did his namesake, Boromir Brandybuck, young Faramir Took, and Merry-lad and Pip Gamgee.

Boromir smiled at Pippin. "I hadn't known any Hobbits before either, I wondered if they were all so pert and impudent."

"Only the ones with Took blood." said Sam, and went 'oof' as Master Merry hit him square in the stomach with an apple. "See what I mean, Is that any way to treat the Mayor of the Shire?"

"If he insists on being rude about the family of the Thains, yes!" answered Pippin.

Boromir laughed and the three adult Hobbits exchanged looks of covert satisfaction which did not escape him. He realized his small friends had taken on the job of cheering him up and did his best to respond as desired. They were sitting in the embrasure at the tip of the great pier of rock that bisected the circles of the city. Boromir's eyes strayed, as they often did, eastward. Strange to see clear blue sky over the Mountains of Shadow instead of fire and lowering darkness.

"Of course after Merry and I'd given your uncle a few good thrashings I quite got over my awe of him." Pippin continued blithely, drawing the Man's attention back to his companions. The boys were giving the Thain looks of open skepticism and he raised his eyebrows. "What, you don't think we could do it?"

"Well..." Cirion was clearly struggling for a polite way to call a Hero of the War of the Ring a liar to his face.

"We'll just have to prove it then. Merry, Boromir."

"No, please, Pippin!" the Man protested in mock terror. Merry patted his shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you."

Boromir allowed himself to be tugged down the steps to the gravelled area at the foot of the embrasure and accepted the wooden practice sword Pippin shoved into his hand. "Two against one is scarcely fair." he murmured as they squared off.

Merry snorted softly. "Says the Man who took on Orcs by the score!"

"Not by choice I promise you!" The Man managed to keep the two Hobbits in play for a time, but it wasn't easy, not easy at all despite his advantage in height and reach. It was always a delight to see how well his Little Friends had shaped up as swordsmen. He remembered their favorite trick very well but still they took him by surprise. First Merry put him off balance with a lunge and sideways cut to the knees, then Pippin hit him from the other side and down he went with the two of them on top of him.

"Pin his legs! pin his legs!" Merry panted.

"Ow! he's got my head, he's got my head!" wheezed Pippin. They were too intent to heed, or even hear, the order to desist and when hands reached down to separate them their owner was promptly pulled off his feet and into the fray. Pippin struggled upright, caught his breath, and realized he was sitting on his King's chest. "Oops, sorry, Strider." he hastily climbed off and helped Aragorn to sit up.

The King pushed his hair out of his face as Merry retrieved the royal circlet that had rolled from his head and handed it back to him. "Someday I'll learn." he said resignedly. "I am sorry to interrupt your sport, gentlemen, but I have need of Boromir's advice."

"My advice?" the other Man echoed blankly, clearly astonished.

Aragorn answered with one of his darkling looks. "If you can spare the time." the King got to his feet brushing gravel dust from his blue and silver surcoat, the circlet slipped casually over one arm.

Boromir levered himself upright with a hand on Pippin's shoulder and glanced around. The boys were standing on the steps of the embrasure, looking both delighted and appalled, with Sam shaking his head resignedly beside them. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen." The two Men strolled off in the direction the Tower of Ecthelion. "I'm sorry about that, Aragorn." Boromir offered. "Merry and Pippin were just trying to cheer me up."

"I would have thought they were too old for such games." the King snorted, then smiled almost unwillingly and gave Boromir a sidelong look. "Did they succeed."

His friend laughed. "They usually do."

"That is so, and I am grateful to them for it."

"So am I." Boromir hastily veered away from the personal. "You said you need my advice?" The note of incredulity in his voice clearly displeased Aragorn.

"I have had a letter from Near Harad asking safe conduct for an embassy." He took the scroll from his sleeve and handed it to Boromir. "It is to be led by a Lord Esarhael, Faramir says you know him well."

"As well as a soldier may know an accustomed foe." the other Man replied, skimming the letter.

"We have had a certain amount of trouble with Haradim embassages in the past," Aragorn understated, "can this Esarhael be trusted?"

Boromir let the letter roll closed and looked up. "I have never known him to break his word or the laws of war." he said slowly. "Yes, I would trust him."

"Then we will let him come." the King decided. "I would like you to be present at the audience, Boromir, your insight might be useful to me."

"As you wish."

--

Sam Gamgee always enjoyed a bit of pageantry, as long as he was a spectator that is. He didn't like it nearly so well when he was an actor, always turned red as a tomato and never quite knew what to do or say. He looked up at the King on his throne, crowned and robed and looking more like one of the looming statues of his ancestors than Old Strider. Then their eyes met and one of the King's closed in a wink. Sam grinned and winked back. He should know better, King or no Aragorn would always be their Strider.

Queen Undomiel was sat beside him, all in white with jewels glittering in her hair. And standing with the other ladies on the Queen's side of the dais was his own Elanor, lovely as the Elven flower she was named for in her green gown. A Gamgee maid of honor to a Queen! what would his old Dad have had to say about that?

Faramir was on the King's side of the lowest step of the dais, with the white rod of the Stewards in his hand, looking stern and proud. And the rest of the Hall was filled with tall, glittering folk brightening the gloomy place up a bit with their colorful robes and gowns. But all in all Sam still preferred the King's Hall at Annuminas with its golden pillars and painted walls and great silver tree. It had an Elvish quality that lifted up your heart instead crushing it under massive black columns and giant statues.

The Hobbits and their ladies had a place of honor to the right of the dais and Boromir stood behind them, hidden beneath his Ranger's cloak. Frankly Sam was surprised he'd agreed to come at all being so dead set against letting anybody in Gondor know he'd come back. Sam understood why, maybe even better than Aragorn, but he thought Boromir was being to hard on himself. Maybe it was time he told him so.

An eerie music of horns and drums floated through the open door of the hall growing louder until the musicians finally entered two by two. Young boys, not much taller than the Hobbits, with skins the color of strong tea wearing short scarlet tunics with golden collars around their necks and heavy rings of the same on their bare arms and legs. Their heads were wrapped in turbans of red cloth bound by golden cords and decorated with sprays of green and blue feathers. Four of the eight were pounding away on big drums hanging from a strap slung round their shoulders, while the other four blew into long twisty horns of pale ivory.

Sam heard a soft chuckle from somewhere above his head and looked up to catch the smile on Boromir's face under the shadow of his hood. "He always did like to make a show." the Man murmured almost fondly.

The boy musicians were followed by about a score of tall Southron warriors wearing bright blue and green robes over spikey golden armor with long spears in their hands and small, gold studded shields on their arms, faces half hidden by veils dangling from twisted blue and green turbans. Musicians and warriors alike separated to make way for a tall, lean Man all in white from turban to toe except for a bright red sash around his waist. Behind him came four more soldiers wearing scarlet and black over silver scaled armor and bearing a small, glittering, gold encrusted canopy over a fifth Man, all in black, with a large casket of intricately carved silver his arms.

As the white robed Man came to the foot of the dais and bowed the musicians finally stopped their noise, to Sam's relief. Their master unfastened the veil over the lower part of his face to show a strong boned face about the same color as his attendants, with a close trimmed jet black beard and eyes of an incongruous light blue (1) Aragorn had risen from his throne to greet the envoy. He returned the bow with a slight inclination of the head and made a short speech in an outlandish language that wasn't Elvish or anything like Westron. The Haradrim, blinked and gave the King a piercing look then answered in the same tongue ending on a questioning note.

"I travelled in the Southern lands, long ago." Aragorn replied in the Common language.

Sam looked curiously up at him. Strider'd never given away the fact he could speak Haradic before. 'He likes this fellow.' the Mayor thought, then looked thoughtfully at Boromir. 'And so does he.'

"The letter requesting our safe conduct gave no reason for this embassage. What is your business with us, my Lord?" Aragorn was asking.

"I have been commanded by my King to deliver a gift to the Lord of Gondor." Esarhael answered. The black robed man with the casket came forward to stand beside him. "An heirloom of the Downfallen and reminder of our common heritage."

The King's face revealed nothing but Sam sensed a sudden tension in him, and in the Man standing behind him, as the Haradrim Lord opened the casket revealing a mace. Its black handle was inlaid with arabesques in culurin and mithril and its head was a globe of cold blue-white adamant. The never to be forgotten cold of Mordor seemed to radiate from the thing, chilling Sam to the heart. Faramir stepped forward to take it and he opened his mouth to cry a warning but his voice wouldn't come.

"Hold!" Faramir froze in his tracks at that pr-emptory command. A large hand moved Sam gently to one side and a tall cloaked figure moved past.

He knew it was Boromir, could be no one else, but all he could see was a great white light dazzling him. Sam looked aside, Merry was squinting as if he were staring into the sun but Pippin, Rosie, Estella and Diamond merely looked startled. The Mayor squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them he could see straight again. Boromir passed Faramir, who stared at his brother as if transfixed, and firmly closed the casket lid over the thing inside. The Man holding it shrank away, eyes white rimmed above the black veil.

Boromir turned to Esarhael. "This is not your doing." he said quietly, with conviction. "Sorcery was never your way."

The Haradrim Lord swallowed. "Nor was it yours, once." he husked.

"Your King's gift, like his sword, has two edges it would seem." Aragorn said coolly. "Take it for us, Boromir." and as the elder brother obeyed. "Faramir, see Lord Esarhael and his train to the quarters prepared for them, this audience is ended." the King offered his arm to the Queen who looked pale and shaken. "Boromir, attend us." the three of them left the Hall by a door at the back of the dais. It closed behind them and the assembled gentlefolk burst into agitated conversation.

Sam, feeling weak at the knees, sat down on the bottom step of the dais and put his head in his hands. "Dad?" He looked up to see his eldest daughter gazing worriedly down at him. "What happened? The Queen got such a look on her face and you're as pale as your shirt."

He swallowed. "The mace, it was some kind of Black Sorcery." Elanor's lips rounded in a silent 'Oh.'

"Sam," Merry's voice was thin and strained, "did you see it too, or have I gone completely mad?"

"If you're talking about the light, yes I saw it," the Mayor answered, adding softly, "Mr. Frodo used to shine like that too sometimes."

"But what does it mean?" Merry asked forlornly.

"I don't know for sure." Sam admitted. "But it's got something to do with fighting the Ring."

--

Aragorn, Boromir and Arwen stood around the great council table. The two Men at the head and the Woman at the foot as far away from the mace, lying in its open casket, as she could get.

"So it was not just by evil council Sauron gained control over Ar-Pharazon." the King said musingly. "This thing, made for him by Sauron's own hand must also have played a part. I wonder how it came to survive the Downfall." he looked at Boromir. "You were wise not to let Faramir touch it."

"This is not Esarhael's doing." the other Man said firmly. "You heard him speak of the Downfallen when he made the presentation, it was meant as a warning."

"That was my feeling as well." Aragorn agreed. "How much do you think he knew?"

Boromir shook his head. "He has little Sight, less even than I, he would have known nothing for certain but suspected much. He has always hated sorcery."

"Its influence is a subtle but powerful poison." the Queen said from her end of the table. "Even locked in our deepest vault it could still do mischief, it should be destroyed."

"I hope that doesn't mean another trek to the Cracks of Doom." Boromir said drily.

Arwen smiled a little in response. "A good, hot smithy furnace should be sufficient for the handle. The head should be broken and the fragments cast into the river."

Aragorn nodded. "See to it, Boromir. Let no one else touch it."

"I won't, never fear." the Man shut the casket lid, picked it up, bowed to Aragorn and the Queen and left the room. It didn't dawn on him that he had quite thoroughly given himself away until he saw the white face of the guard outside the Council Chamber. "I'm no wraith, Edrahil." he said gently and proved it by laying a firm and very material hand on the Man's shoulder.

He covered it with his own and his eyes filled with tears. "Captain - I don't understand, King Elessar saw you die. He and his companions laid your body in a boat and Prince Faramir saw it pass Osgilliath on its way to the sea."

"All that is true, I was sent back." as the Man's eyes widened. "It's a long story." briskly. "Are the smithies still where they were?" Edrahil nodded. "Good. I have an errand there."

--

The King sent for those Councillors of the Realm presently in the city. These were the Steward of Gondor, Faramir Prince of Ithilien; his kinsman Hurin of the Keys, Warden of the Citadel; Turgon, Captain of the White Tower; the Lord Earnur, governor of the White City, and Anordil, Steward of Anorien, for his Princess. Twenty years ago Aragorn had broken custom and outraged convention by appointing not only his Queen but two other ladies to his council.

"The Lord Esarhael is a herald and so protected by the laws of war." Aragorn told the his councilors calmly.

"But surely this attempted treachery - " Lord Earnur began.

"Was not his doing." Aragorn interupted firmly. "Or that of his King. We know who is behind this."

"Herumor." said Faramir grimly. "He is the true ruler of Near Harad, not King Jeruth."

Queen Undomiel agreed. "And a most potent Black Sorceror."

"As this proves." said Aragorn. "The mace, I think, was meant to weaken us from within before yet another assault. The question is will Herumor continue with his plans now his ploy has failed?"

"Judging by his past actions I would say yes." that was Eowyn, the Lady of the Shield Arm, sitting beside her husband. "Once he begins to move he is not easily turned aside."

"But already his plans have gone awry twice." Faramir pointed out. "There can be little doubt he originally planned to time his attack with Draugoth's in the North. But thanks to my brother the Wolf-lord's uprising was discovered before he was ready and quickly crushed. Clearly the mace was another attempt to undermine us from within. Now that it too has failed might he not abandon his plans?"

"More likely he will concoct yet another plot against us." said Eowyn.

"I fear your Princess has the right of it, cousin." said Hurin wryly.

"And what of the Lord Boromir?" Captain Turgon demanded. "For twenty years we have mourned him as dead. Now, out of nowhere, he reappears to save us from our enemies. How can this be?"

"Boromir died as I said, twenty years ago." Aragorn began and the Captain turned crimson.

"My Lord, I do not question your word!"

The King gave him a reassuring smile. "I know that, my friend. Boromir indeed died but the Lords of the West have seen fit to return him to us - and it seems we have need of him."

Lord Earnur shook his head, awed. "The Dark Lord falls. The King Returns. And now Gondor's greatest hero is vouchsafed back to us. Truly this is an age of wonders!"

"But what of the Stewardship?" Anordil asked, troubled. "Prince Faramir has served nobly for many years yet the Lord Boromir was the elder and the heir. The White Rod is his by right."

"I agree." Faramir said promptly. "I have already told King Elessar that I would stand aside for Boromir." he blinked back tears. "Indeed I would gladly give far more than the White Rod to have him back."

"But Boromir has no wish to disposses his brother." Aragorn finished.

"Faramir would remain Prince of Ithilien and a Councilor of the Realm if such is the King's pleasure." Earnur pointed out. "Certainly Anordil's not suggesting he be turned out in his shirt!"

"I'm glad to hear it!" said Eowyn, causing a few chuckles round the table.

"I had intended to make Boromir Steward of my Northern Domains and Constable of Annuminas - " the King began.

He was interrupted by a heartfelt "No!" from Captain Turgon. The Man flushed again. "Forgive me, my Lord, but the North has many fair Princes and Captains of her own. Boromir belongs to Gondor." There were emphatic nods of agreement from both Earnur and Anordil. Hurin frowned, troubled.

"Boromir himself surely should have some say in this matter." Aragorn temporized. "We will delay our decision until he has had a chance to make his wishes known."

--

(1) Esarhael, like many highborn Haradrim, has some share of Numenorean blood accounting for the blue eyes and the fact that, at seventy-odd, he still hasn't a grey hair on his head.


	3. An End to Secrets

Boromir rode slowly back to Minas Anor after dropping the fragments of the mace head into the deepest part of the Anduin. The temptation to go in the other direction, any other direction, was strong. He had no choice now but to confess all and face out the consequences as best he could - or run away. But of course he couldn't run away, his city, his people and his King were in danger. His place was with them, whether they wanted him there or not.

The south gate of the Encircling Wall stood open framing a waiting horseman. As he came closer Boromir realized it was not a Man but a Woman, his own foster sister Idril. He reined in beside her and glanced around. The gatewards were nowhere to be seen, nor had she any female companion. "You're going to get yourself talked about."

She smiled demurely. "You're behind the times, Boromir, it's no longer fashionable to have some little maid or aging gentlewoman dogging your steps whenever you set foot outside your doors. We have our northern kinswomen to thank for it." Idril continued tranquilly, wheeling her mount expertly around to proceed city-ward at his side. "From the Queen down they flatly refused to be so encumbered and since the Royal Ladies now set the fashions..." she shrugged.

"As for myself I never quite understood how the mere presence of some slip of a girl or frail old dame could deter a Man meaning ill." Boromir confessed.

"And if it was the Woman who meant ill her companion was most likely her accomplice." Idril agreed. "It was a foolish custom by any measure, just a way of showing consquence I deem." She gave him a sidelong look, eyes glinting yellow beneath thick black lashes.

Boromir found himself thinking those eyes were her only real claim to beauty. Such an unusual color, smoky gold like a cat's or a hawk's, dominating her small pointed face.

"There was considerable excitement in the Hall after you left." she observed.

Boromir winced, "I can imagine." he added dryly. "I begin to understand why Beren and Luthien chose to live alone in Ossiriand after their return."

"I have an estate called Tol Galen (1) on the upper Gilrain." Idril offered coolly. "But you will need a Luthien to share it."

He looked at her, startled, and got the full impact of that wide feline stare; cool, measuring and quite aware of what she had just said. Boromir's mouth was suddenly dry, fortunately he was spared the need to find a reply. Suddenly the golden eyes released him, flicking ahead, and a slight frown creased Idril's forehead.

"I think you must have been recognized going out."

He followed her gaze to a great crowd gathered in front of the city gate. It was quiet and orderly but clearly waiting for some one and it didn't take any imagination at all to guess who. No use putting off the inevitable any longer Boromir told himself, a little grimly, and reached up to push back his hood.

The mass of people surged forward in an irresistible tide, shouldering Idril aside and engulfing him in sea of laughing, crying faces. He clasped as many of the hands stretched up to him as he could reach and said something - he had no idea what - and it didn't matter. The love that had always united him with his people surged over them all, overwhelming every other thought, and for the first time he felt as if he really had come home.

Eventually - Boromir never knew how much later - an arrowhead formation of City Guards pushed their way through the crowd to him. Somehow they managed to get him away from the people without trampling anybody and up the six circles to the security of the Citadel. There he found Merry, Pippin and Sam all waiting anxiously beneath the Tree in the court of the fountain.

"Did you get rid of it?" the Mayor blurted.

Boromir nodded. "It's gone, Sam, don't worry."

The Hobbit heaved a relieved sigh. "Good! My but that thing gave me a nasty turn. I haven't felt like that since - well not for a long time."

"Are you all right?" Pippin wanted to know. "I'm afraid you won't be able to hide anymore, everybody knows you're alive."

"Indeed we do." Turgon, Captain of the White Tower, pushed his way through the guardsmen to confront his former commander.

Boromir smiled at him. "I see you've come up in the world, my friend." the Man didn't return it.

"Why did you hide yourself from us, Captain?" he demanded, "What had we, your people, done to deserve such treatment from you?"

Boromir took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly and braced himself. "It was what I had done, Turgon, that made me ashamed to face you. I broke my sworn word." The effect was not quite what he'd anticipated.

"Impossible." the Captain said flatly, and every Man around them nodded his agreement.

Boromir felt a stirring of anger. "Do you think I would lie about such a thing? I broke my oath to the Ringbearer, I tried to take the Ring from him!"

"I know." Turgon said, quite calmly. "And I know that you would never have done any such thing of your own will. It was the Ring's doing, it drove you to it."

For a moment Boromir could only gape. "You know! How?"

"From Master Gamgee."

"Oh, Lor!" Sam's face had gone crimson to the ears. "I'm sorry, Boromir, but I was that desperate. Faramir was set on taking us to Minas Tirith and I thought if he knew what the Ring had done to you he might change his mind so... I just shouted it out in front of who knows how many Men."

Boromir sat down abruptly on a bench. "You mean the entire guard knew?"

"Not just the guard." Turgon answered. "I would guess the whole city heard the story, and who knows how many of the country people. But it's said the Ringbearer himself wanted it forgotten, so it's not spoken of."

"That's true." Sam said earnestly. "Mr. Frodo didn't want you being remembered, and maybe blamed, for something that wasn't really your fault."

"It was my fault for giving in to the Ring." Boromir said, but there was little heart in it. He was getting very tired of this particular argument, and beginning to think if everybody was so ready to excuse him then, just maybe, he should let them.

"But it didn't last did it?" Sam argued. "You came back to your right self and died defending Merry and Pippin. I can't tell you how glad Mr. Frodo and I were to hear that." then he blushed and added hastily: "To hear you were yourself again that is, not that you'd died. We were very sorry about that."

Boromir smiled reassuringly. "I know what you meant, Sam."

"My point is," the Mayor continued doggedly, "your bad spell didn't last long and didn't do any real harm, even to Mr. Frodo. Seems to me you don't really have all that much to blame yourself for."

Boromir was almost as astonished as Merry and Pippin to hear himself answer: "Maybe you're right, Sam."

--

(1) Tol Galen, the Green Isle, on the River Adurant in Ossiriand was the home of Beren and Luthien after their Return, far away from Doriath and the Wars.


	4. Diplomacy and Other Matters

Aragorn's eyes twinkled. "So this great secret we have all been at such pains to keep is in fact known to all of Minas Anor?"

"And to at least half the kingdom as well." Boromir admitted ruefully, "I must say I feel more than a little foolish."

"But it's all right," Merry asked anxiously, "you don't mind everybody knowing?"

"I mind," Boromir said wryly, "but I couldn't bear to live a lie either. If my people can forgive my weakness then I am grateful to them." he turned to Faramir. "And I hold you to your promise, Brother. I expect that monstrosity in the Fountain Court to be gone by morning!"

Faramir grinned broadly. "It will be. What need have we of a statue when we have the original back again!"

Aragorn turned away to conceal a private smile as he filled his pipe. At least Boromir was no longer hiding himself away and nursing his shame in secret. Though his King feared that finding a place for him in the realm would still pose a problems.

The light was fading from the sky outside the windows of Aragorn's privy chamber, high up in the Tower of Ecthelion, any minute now a page would be knocking at the door to light the candles. He decided not to pursue the question of Boromir's future just yet. They had more immediate concerns. "The Council believes this attempt at sorcery is forerunner to a new war with Near Harad."

Boromir nodded. "I fear they're right there, Aragorn, it's just Herumor's way."

The King rose, pipe in hand, to slowly pace the room. "Your friend Esarhael impressed me. It would take a Man of unusual parts to survive so long in a land overshadowed by Mordor untainted."

"He is a good Man," Boromir said simply. "with no good choices. His kings have been captives of Black Sorcery for three generations now. And while we may see Gondor as bulwark and champion of the Free Peoples, to him we are the hereditary enemy of his blood." he shook his head. "I don't know what I would have done in his place."

"Yet what he said about our common heritage was true." Aragorn mused. "The blood of Numenor runs in the veins of the Men of Near Harad. Whatever our differences we are still kin. I want you to talk to Esarhael for me, Boromir. Try to make him see Gondor as an ally against the Shadow."

"I've said as much to him more than once." the other Man replied, rising. "Unfortunately we Men of Gondor have not always dealt justly with our neighbors. I can't altogether blame him for his distrust of us."

"What about us trusting them?" Pippin demanded. "We're not the ones who keep sending assassins and curses and who knows what else!"

Boromir gave him a quick smile. "That is the other side of the coin."

"But this Esarhael is a Man you trust." said the King. "And he, I think, has some trust in you too, Boromir. It's a place to start."

"I'm afraid my return from the dead may well have destroyed whatever faith he once placed in me." Boromir said ruefully. "He hates and fears anything that savors of sorcery, but I will try."

--

The main room of the guest house given to the embassage from Near Harad had been transformed; layers of richly colored and intricately patterned carpets and hangings, and pelts of strange southern beasts concealed floors and walls. Curiously shaped bronze lamps burning scented oil replaced candles, illuminating chests and low tables inlaid with nacre and semi-precious stones. One of the boy musicians and a couple of aging menservants huddled in a corner, as far from Boromir as they could get, staring at him with white rimmed eyes. Esarhael entered, bareheaded, wrapped in a loose blue-green gown.

"I never could understand how you managed to maneuver so quickly with all the baggage you insisted on dragging along." Boromir remarked conversationally.

The older Man's mouth quivered in something that might have been the beginnings of a smile. "And I have never understood why you Westerners make a virtue of squalor." the trace of humor vanished. "They said you'd been killed."

"They were right." Boromir answered baldly.

The Haradrim's face hardened. "They also say your king is a mighty necromancer." "That's a lie!" Boromir flared.

Esarhael did not blench but in the corner somebody, maybe the boy, whimpered. Southron lord looked away long enough to smile and say something gently in Haradic and his three servants scuttled through a door. The winter blue eyes locked again with Boromir's. "The Dead fought for Elessar at Pelagir and Minas Tirith, and now he brings you back from the Dark Shore as well yet you say he is not a necromancer?"

"The army of the dead were oathbreakers, bound to this world until they finally fulfilled their allegiance." Boromir replied, forcing himself to speak calmly. "And Aragorn did not bring me back."

"Then who did," Esarhael challenged, "the Elvish Queen?"

That actually made Boromir smile. "Hardly. No Elf, or Half-Elf would dare to meddle with the Doom of Men." He took a step closer to Esarhael, then another. The Haradrim paled slightly but held his ground. "I am neither wraith nor revenant, Esarhael, but mortal flesh and blood just as I was before."

"Not quite as before." the other Man answered tensely.

Boromir hesitated, he wasn't sure exactly what had happened in the Hall. He'd acted on instinct, knowing only he must keep Faramir from touching that fell thing. He had no idea what Esarhael, the casket bearer and his brother had seen to make them look at him so - nor did he want to know. He did not speak, merely held out his hand.

Esarhael took a deep breath, visibly bracing himself, and took it. Some of the tension went out of him and he smiled faintly. "Yes, you are flesh and blood." he released Boromir's hand and sank down onto the heaped furs beside a small table holding goblets and a decanter of colored glass. Boromir sat cross-legged opposite and accepted the glass of Southron wine Esarhael handed him. "What happened?" the Haradrim asked matter-of-factly.

"You know I was one of the Fellowship that accompanied the Ringbearer on the first part of his quest." Boromir began carefully. "We were attacked on the banks of the Anduin above the Great Falls by Uruk Hai in the service of Curunir (1). The Ringbearer escaped across the river with his squire but two of his kinsmen were taken by the Orcs and I was mortally wounded."

"All this I have heard." Esarhael agreed. Boromir took a deep breath. Now it got difficult. "My remaining companions; King Elessar, an Elf and a Dwarf, laid my -" he faltered on the word, "my body in one of our boats and sent it over the falls, but it didn't sink. Faramir saw it miles downstream at Osgilliath and it must have carried me to the sea and over it into the West but of course I remember nothing of it."

The Haradrim's mouth quirked. "Of course not."

Boromir continued even more carefully; "I do remember something of the Halls, most clearly being asked if I were willing to return. I consented and my spirit was restored to my body, which had been healed of its wounds, and then I was brought back oversea to Middle Earth."

"Brought back how?" Esarhael demanded.

Boromir swallowed. "By Orome, one of the Valar." and saw the Haradrim's face go hard. He could guess at the lies Esarhael'd been taught concerning the Lords of the West. Time to change the subject. "Clearly Herumor intends another war. We are forewarned and ready, he will fail. How many tens of thousands of your people must die before you see he is the enemy, not Gondor?"

"There seems to me little to chose between our Dark Sorcerer and your Sorcerer King." the Haradrim answered bitterly.

This time Boromir managed to keep a rein on his temper. "If you can truly see no difference between Herumor and Aragorn then you are not only blind but a fool, and I know very well you are neither. I love sorcery no more than you do, Esarhael, you know that. Would I follow a king who was a sorcerer?"

"You served a Steward who was one." Once again Boromir had to quell an impulse to anger. Esarhael seemed incapable of seeing the difference between the Black Arts and the kind of Power Aragorn and Denethor wielded. "My father was no sorcerer, nor is my King." Time to change the subject again. "I know what you fear, Esarhael, nor can I blame you for it given the histories of our two nations, but Aragorn is of a different kind than the Ship Kings of Old. He desires only what is his by right; Harondor and Umbar. And Near Harad as an ally not a subject province."

There was a long silence before Esarhael said, grimly: "I wish I could believe that."

"You can. You must know I am speaking the truth!"

"At least what you believe to be true." the Haradrim conceeded. Boromir looked at him helplessly. It was as he'd feared, in Esarhael's eyes he, Boromir, was now hopelessly compromised by the 'sorceries' wound around him. Given the other Man's background he couldn't blame him for his instinctive revulsion against anything savoring of Power, but neither could he think of any way of overcoming it.

"Aragorn understands you had no part in Herumor's treachery. The safe conduct he gave you holds, you are free to leave whenever you wish."

Esarhael bowed his head. "Thank you."

Boromir got to his feet, suddenly overcome by the weariness of a long and difficult day. "At least think about what I have said."

"I will." was all the Haradrim answered It wasn't much but it would have to do.

--

The air in the King's privy chamber was blue with smoke from his pipe and Sam's. Boromir tried not to cough and wondered again at the curious customs of the North. "I don't think I did much good." he reported. "It seems you have a name for sorcery in the Southlands, Aragorn."

"So I have heard." the King sighed. "And difficult to deny since I have indeed done the things they say."

"Yes, but your magic isn't like the Enemy's!" Sam protested. "Anybody with sense can see that."

"Unfortunately we Men don't have the good sense of Hobbits." Boromir smiled, then seriously to Aragorn. "Esarhael told me he sees little to chose between you and Herumor," he made a small gesture of defeat, "and I couldn't find the words to convince him otherwise."

The King nodded, face shuttered. "Thank you for trying, Boromir." he glanced out the window and got his feet. "And good night to you both." he paused in the doorway to look back at the other Man with a hint of a twinkle in his eye. "And, Boromir, there is to be a meeting of the full council tomorrow at the third hour. I expect you to attend."

The other Man bowed, grimacing. "As you wish."

The door closed and Sam gave Boromir a commiserating look. "I suppose that's the down side to being officially alive again."

He got a rueful smile in reply. "One of them. Where are you staying, Sam?"

"Guest house on the south wall." the Hobbit finished cleaning his pipe and tucked it safely into a pocket, got up and stretched. "Rosie's probably wondering what's happened to me."

"Mistress Gamgee undoubtedly had the good sense to go to bed hours ago." said Boromir holding the door open for him. "Why are you still up, Sam?" he couldn't see the Mayor's face as the Hobbit proceeded him down the stairs, but saw his ears redden.

"I wanted to apologize again. I'm really sorry, Boromir, but you were dead. It couldn't hurt you any more - or so I thought - and it might've helped Mr. Frodo and me."

"I understand, Sam, don't worry about it." A guard opened the small door at the foot of the stair letting them out into the tangle of narrow alleys that ran between the buildings crowding the Citadel. "I'm just grateful you can forgive me for what I nearly did to Frodo," Boromir continued as they wound their way to the south wall, "Frankly I never thought you would."

"Oh I was angry with you at first," Sam answered. "thinking a great Man like you should have been able to stand up to the Ring."

"Indeed I should have." Boromir agreed quietly.

"But then I saw what it was doing to Mr. Frodo," Sam continued, a little sharply, "how it was taking him over, bit by bit, no matter how hard he fought. And I started thinking maybe I'd been to hard on you. And then -" he swallowed, "I took it myself. I thought Mr. Frodo was dead, killed by that spider thing, and I wanted to lie down next to him and die too." his voice was thick with tears and Boromir put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "But there was still the Ring. It had to go to the fire or Mr. Frodo would have died for nothing, and there was nobody left to take it but me." he looked imploringly up at the Man. "I had to try didn't I? even if it meant overstepping my place."

"You did the right thing, Sam, if the Ring had still been on Frodo when Sauron's Orcs found him all would have been over."

"That's what he told me too; taking the Ring was the best thing I could've done whether he was alive or dead." the Mayor scrubbed his sleeve across his eyes before faltering on. "So I took it, and then it took me! Just for a moment or two but it seemed like forever." he shuddered. "Mr. Frodo was right, I didn't know anything about it. I'd no idea what he, and you, were fighting."

"You were in Mordor itself, Sam, where the Ring was at its strongest. You should be proud you were able to refuse it." Boromir told him.

The Mayor startled him by giving a scornful little snort. "If you ask me I should be ashamed of myself for falling for it even for a minute. Me, a great warrior and hero! Addled as I was I saw through that right enough, though it took me longer than I like to remember."

"But you are a hero, Sam." Boromir told him. "One of the greatest heroes of the Age. Even our enemies think so, why else would Draugoth have risked all to kill you?"

Another snort expressed Sam's opinion of that. Then he looked somberly up at the Man. "It was different for you, you really could lead armies and all the rest. How can I blame you for giving in to the Ring when I nearly did too?"

"But you didn't." said Boromir.

Sam didn't quite roll his eyes. "Well I don't blame you, whether you think I should or not!"

"And I'm grateful for it." said Boromir.

They reached Sam's guest house. Standing on its doorstep he looked up at the Man. "My other reason for sitting up was to see if you were all right after handling that nasty thing."

Boromir blinked, badly taken aback. The possibility of taking harm from the mace had never even occurred to him, but given his past experience with such things - "I think I'm all right. I hope I'm all right."

"I think you are too." Sam said quickly, reassuringly. "I thought you would be the way your Light pushed that Dark right back into its box -"

"My what?" Boromir interrupted, crouching down so he could look the Hobbit in the face. "Sam, what are you talking about?"

The Mayor frowned, as if a little puzzled. "When you went past me I could barely see you for the Light. And when you reached for the box the Dark rising out of it went right back in."

The Man had seen the Darkness but - "What light, Sam?"

"The Light coming from inside you." the Hobbit answered calmly. "Merry and Faramir saw it too, so I wasn't just imagining things -" he saw the alarm on Boromir's face and added quickly, "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about - Mr. Frodo used to shine like that too sometimes. I think it's got to do with fighting the Ring."

"Very likely." Boromir managed through a tight throat. "I - I hadn't realized..." he got to his feet. "Good night, Sam."

"Good night." the Hobbit went inside, leaving the Man staring at the closed door.

So that was what Esarhael had meant when he'd said he, Boromir, wasn't quite the same as he'd been. The Haradrim must have seen this 'light' too, and the casket bearer as well. 'I am out of my depth,' Boromir thought despairingly, 'and have been ever since I rode into Imladris all those years ago. Not only don't I know what to do, I don't even know what I can do!'

--

(1) Curunir, 'Man of Skill', was Saruman's Sindarin name, the name by which he was best known in the south. Just as Gandalf was known as Mithrandir


	5. Council of War

"I fear your Princess will be displeased with you, Captain."

Faramir smiled ruefully at the sentry, one of his Rangers from the old days. "We are facing a war, Andvir, there is much to be done and most of it seems to fall to the Steward."

"You should be less capable, Captain." "I would certainly get to my bed earlier." Faramir agreed. He clapped the Man on the shoulder and strolled away from the White Tower towards the Steward's House.

A figure hunched on a bench in a corner of the tiny courtyard before his home caught Faramir's eye. It was Boromir, posture and face eloquent of distress. Faramir stopped, heart aching with sympathy, then moved quietly to stand over him and said gently. "Boromir, haven't our people convinced you yet that your 'failings' matter far less to them than they do to you?"

His brother looked up at him blankly for a moment, then the corner of his mouth quirked in faint grimace. "I'd forgotten all about that."

Faramir blinked and sat down beside him on the bench. "Then what is troubling you, my Brother?"

"Faramir -" he hesitated for a long moment then with one of the sudden, reckless impulses Faramir remembered so well, blurted: "What did you see in the Hall this morning?"

"At first, nothing unusual." he answered slowly. "There was, perhaps, a certain sense of unease from the mace - or more likely from the presence of Herumor's creatures. Then I heard you call 'Hold!'" and Faramir had to stop a moment, still shaken by the memory of what he'd Seen next. He recovered himself and continued: "I Saw you, as a figure of shining light, approach the mace and only then did I See the Shadow rising from it like smoke," he raised his eyes to look steadily at Boromir, "and I saw it driven back as you stretched your hand over it."

It was Boromir who looked away. "That's what Sam said." he drew a deep, shaken breath. "I don't understand."

"Don't you?" Faramir asked gently. "Surely, Brother, you realize that no Man could pass through the trials you have endured and emerge unchanged."

"But changed into what?" Boromir asked painfully.

"Perhaps the Man you should have been." Faramir answered quietly. "Could have been if duty and our father hadn't forced you into the warrior's mold."

His brother's eyes flashed up at that. "I am a warrior, Faramir." he said sharply. "It is my nature, as well as my training." he added more quietly. "My skill at arms and at strategy I can trust. But I do not trust myself in matters of Power, I haven't the strength or the wisdom for such things - as we both know!"

Faramir closed his eyes in pain. This doubt was his doing as much as their father's. "But you have power, Boromir," he reminded, "we have seen it.

" "I know." was the strained answer. "That is why I am afraid."

--

"You look tired."

Boromir smiled down into the worried face of the Master of Buckland. "Yesterday was a hard day, followed by a too short night."

"Sam did say you were up till all hours talking to that Esarhael and the like." Pippin observed, panting, then spoke past Boromir to Merry: "Maybe he can take a nap this afternoon."

"I will do no such thing!" the Man declared laughing. "When are you two going to stop nursemaiding me?"

"As soon as we're convinced you're fit to look after yourself." Pippin replied.

"Which isn't likely to be any time soon." Merry added dryly. And Boromir shook his head in mock despair. The three of them were climbing the White Tower's narrow, winding privy stair in single file with Merry in the lead.

The Master pushed open the door to the second floor corridor and held it for his companions. At least Boromir looked more like himself, he reflected, Ranger leathers replaced by crimson velvet and violet satin glistening with gold thread. The Hobbits themselves were dressed quite differently from their usual fashion. As he was attending this Council in his capacity as a Knight of Rohan Merry had put on a coat of scaled Rohirric armor and a gold bordered green cloak with a sword at his side. The children had been very impressed - taking some of the sting out of Estella's ill-suppressed fit of giggles. He glanced at Pippin, resplendent in the black and silver livery of the Kings, and admitted ruefully to himself that the two of them did look a bit foolish by Hobbit standards, but he knew very well that the Men on the Council wouldn't agree and shrugged mentally. When in Minas Anor do as the Gondorim do! that was plain Hobbit sense and courtesy too.

The first thing Boromir saw when he entered the Council Chamber was his uncle, the Prince of Dol Amroth, talking to Legolas. Their eyes met and Imrahil stopped conversations and turned heads all over the room with a cry of "Boromir!" He engulfed his nephew in a warm embrace, then stepped back but retained a tight grip on his as if to prevent an escape. "Boromir! I don't know whether to laugh with joy or roar with rage. When were you going to tell me you were alive? Has an uncle no rights?"

"I was going to visit you, Uncle, just as soon as it could be arranged." Boromir answered apologetically. "And I am sorry for the secrecy. But I've already been told several times that I've been a fool and would greatly appreciate not hearing it again."

His uncle gave him one of his piercing, searching looks then laughed. "Very well I will spare you. It is good to have you home, my nephew."

"Thank you."

At that moment the great double doors opened and Aragorn came in with his Queen on his arm, followed by Faramir and the nineteen year old Princess Aredhel, heiress presumptive to the throne. The company straightened from their bows and headed for the high backed seats around the council table.

Boromir moved automatically towards his accustomed place, to the right of the great chair at its head, yhen hesitated remembering the Stewards no longer ruled and he was no longer Steward's Heir. Aragorn caught his eye and nodded towards the chair. Boromir obeyed and sat, though not without inner qualms. This seat was meant for the King's Heir or his Steward and he, Boromir, was neither.

Uncle Imrahil sat at Aragorn's left hand with Faramir beside him, then Eowyn and Merry. Pippin was next to Boromir and Queen Arwen at the far end of the table with Legolas at her right hand. Arandil, Faramir's heir, and the young princess both sat on stools behind their fathers.

Boromir listened closely as his brother crisply set out the strategic situation. Conditions here in the South had changed almost as drastically as those in the North in the twenty years since the War of the Rings. Not only had Ithilien been repopulated, by both Men and Elves but long barren Harondor as well. For though Aragorn had killed their Orc overseers and granted Sauron's slaves the land of Nurn many had preferred to leave the place of their servitude and settle in nearby Harondor. Fiercely loyal to the Crown of Gondor they were just as fiercely hostile to the Southron and Easterling kin who had sold them into slavery. Umbar too was now in Dunedain hands, ruled by another of Aragorn's cousins, but surrounded by enemies in Near and Far Harad it seemed likely that Prince Sorondur would be to hard pressed himself to come to Gondor's aid.

The list of their enemies, enumerated by Captain Turgon, was depressingly familiar; the Kingdoms and Principalities of Near and Far Harad, the Khand, and the Tribes of Rhun. But at least they no longer faced them alone. Now, in the twentieth year of the Fourth Age, Gondor had a full quiver of allies beginning with their kin in the North and the everfaithful Rohirrim. Followed by the Men of the Greenwood, the Beornings, the Princes of Rhovanion and the Kingdom of Dale, the Elven realms of Lorien and the Great Greenwood, and the Dwarf realms of Erebor and Moria and Gimli's Glittering Caves.

"But can we expect help from the Kings of the North ?" Herendil of Lebennin asked. "Should we even ask given their recent troubles?"

"Boromir?" He looked at his king, startled. Aragorn stared back pointedly, silently commanding he answer the question. "The North is secure." he assured the council. "Without Draugoth to lead them the Shadow things have crept back into their holes. The Hill Men and the Dunlendings have been badly worsted. They will risk no further hurt without some great advantage to themselves which Herumor cannot provide." he turned to Pippin. "Wouldn't you agree, Thain?"

"Eh? Oh yes, absolutely. The Master, Mayor Gamgee and I wouldn't have left our people otherwise."

"Of course you would not, forgive me Sir Peregrine." Herendil apologized. "I should have known better then to ask."

"Herumor must cross Harondor to reach us." Boromir mused, his eye went to the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers. "Hathaldir, What kind of warriors are these new Harondorim of ours?"


	6. Returned but how Changed?

Faramir stood in the shade of the cloister running round the First Company's exercise yard in the Sixth Circle watching yet another band of young recruits fall under his brother's spell. There were some twenty of them, nervous boys about the age of his Arandil, having their weapons skills tested by Boromir and the Company armsmaster.

A stocky, dark haired young man, Mountain blood clearly predominating in his ancestry, clumsily blocked Boromir's practiced strokes. "Good, very good!" his brother approved. "You have a natural gift for the sword, Bregor." The boy, flushed with exertion, glowed at the praise. "All right, who's next?" Boromir continued looking inquiringly at the row of waiting recruits. A slim, fair haired youth stumbled forward - apparently pushed from behind. "What's your name?"

"V-Vidukind, m'Lord." he stammered.

"Northmen blood, eh? That's promising." the warmth of Boromir's smile seemed to relax the boy a little. "You look like an archer to me, Vidukind, am I right?"

Greenish-blue eyes widened. "Yes, m'Lord. How did you know?" "With shoulders like yours it was obvious. Gwindor, get us a bow. Let's see what kind of a marksman our new archer is."

Faramir saw the worshipful light in Vidukind's eyes, and Bregor's, and shook his head smiling ruefully. He'd never understood how Boromir did it, somehow creating with a few words and a smile the kind of rapport it took Faramir himself weeks of painstaking effort to build with the Men who followed him. It was the difference between a born leader and a born scholar who'd had to learn how to lead.

A drift of pipe smoke tickled his nose. Turning his head he saw King Elessar standing silently at the back of the cloister, smoking meditatively as he watched the activities in the yard. "Your brother has a gift for Men." he observed.

Faramir nodded. "He always did. Though I don't suppose your grace had much chance to see it when you journeyed together."

"There were some signs of it. His care for the young Hobbits, and an uncomfortably keen insight into the minds of his companions," the King smiled wryly. "including mine."

"Yes," Faramir agreed softly, "he always had a knack for seeing more than one wanted him to." he ;ooked again at his brother, fair hair shining in the sun, as he circled the latest recruit a gangling young giant who had not yet filled out to what promised to be a formidable bulk. "He was our light and hope in a dark time."

"A heavy burden for him to bear." the King said quietly.

"I never realized how heavy until suddenly it was mine to carry." Faramir shivered at the memory. "But I was no Boromir. Without him we were truly in darkness." he turned to his King. "Until you came, my Lord."

"Which I never would have done, had he not laid it upon me to save our city and our people." King Elessar answered. Boromir's laugh, drew both Men's attention back to the exercise yard in time to see him being hauled to his feet by the highly embarrassed recruit. "He's needed this, I think." Elessar said quietly. "Solitude does not suit your brother."

"That's why I was so worried when he hid himself away." Faramir answered. "Even as our people drew strength from him, so he took his from them."

"My Lord Elessar!" Boromir had spotted the King in the shadows of the cloister and, eyes sparkling mischievously, beckoned for him to join them in the yard.

Grimacing slightly, Elessar knocked the ashes out of his pipe against a pillar, tucked it in his sleeve and walked out into the bright sunlight. Faramir watched, torn between amusement and apprehension. He knew that look of his brother's from of old but surely Boromir wouldn't play his tricks on their liege lord - would he?

The recruits congealed into statues at the sight of the King, a rim of white showing clearly around every eye. Elessar pretended not to notice. "I am impressed," he told the towering recruit, "it's not easy to get the better of Lord Boromir, as I know from personal experience."

The youngster blushed. "He-he slipped m'Lord."

"And you took advantage of the opening as a soldier should." Boromir said approvingly. "Very well done indeed." he reversed the blunt edged practice sword and offered it hilt first to his King. "Will you take over, my Lord?"

"Perhaps I had better." Elessar replied, eyes glinting in answer to the mischief in Boromir's. "Clearly you are outworn, my friend!"

Boromir grinned. "Give me a chance to catch my breath, Sire, and we will see which of us is outworn!"

The first recruit prodded out of line to face his King was literally petrified with fright, but Elessar's gentle voice and the steady power of his gaze eased the nervous boy almost as readily as Boromir's smile and quick warmth. Two very different Men but with the same gift for engaging the heart..

"Much better." Boromir said approvingly.

Startled Faramir looked down at his brother, now sitting on the cloister steps only a few feet away. "Better?"

Boromir nodded. "Aragorn must learn not to lurk in the shadows. He should let our people see him, speak to him face to face. He is too distant. Even after twenty years he is not truly known here in Gondor."

Faramir had often thought the same, yet he found himself replying defensively. "It is difficult for him."

"I know." his brother answered quietly. "One cannot spend half a lifetime in hiding without it leaving a mark. But you saw how different things are in the North."

Faramir nodded, he'd seen indeed. But the Dunedain of Arnor had followed Isildur's Heirs faithfully, sharing with them a thousand hard years of secret warfare. They did not carry the burden of guilt the Gondorim did. "The fault is not all on his side, Boromir. We here in the South know only to well how little we deserve his grace. Responsibility for his suffering and that of his people lies heavy upon us." he continued broodingly. "From Meneldil's rebellion to Mardil's refusal of the crown to its rightful heir, Gondor's history has ever been marred by pride and self will."

"And she has paid a bitter price for it."

Faramir looked at his brother and was ensnared by a power in the familiar blue gaze that had not been there before.

"Gondor too has suffered for her sins." Boromir continued, nodded towards the King, now sparring with freckled red headed youth. "He knows that better than anyone. Aragorn holds no grudge against the South but loves Gondor as well as he loves his Northern Realm. We Gondorim have always lived to much in our past. It's high time we put aside, if not forget, old griefs and old regrets and looked instead to the future."

It took Faramir a moment to find words. "You have grown wise."

Boromir rolled his eyes upward, becoming again the brother he remembered. "Only if you call plain common sense 'wisdom'!." he saw the King had run out of recruits to test and sprang to his feet to saunter out into the yard and laughingly challenge his sovereign to a sparring match.

Faramir, taking it for a jest, was genuinely surprised when Elessar accepted. But when he looked at the awed and bedazzled faces of the watching recruits he suddenly understood the purpose behind the seeming whimsy. It was but another way of inspiring these raw boys, and perhaps of firing a spirit of emulation within them.

Faramir considered his brother. He had never seen Boromir defer to anyone but their father and in the privacy of his thoughts had worried whether he would be able to accept another ruling over the city he'd considered his own. Clearly Faramir had underestimated Boromir, and perhaps King Elessar too. They worked well together, his brother and the King, Boromir would make Elessar a fine Steward and Captain General if only he could be persuaded to take his rightful place at his side. Faramir was still worried about his brother.

Boromir's behavior at the council had been odd. He'd remained uncharacteristically silent until Elessar had literally commanded him to speak. Then for a short time he'd been his old self, peppering the table with the familiar rapid fire questions. Only to suddenly, for no apparent reason, cut himself off and not utter another word for the rest of the session.

And there remained the question of why he had been sent back, and how changed. Questions he himself seemed determined not to explore. Faramir shivered a little. He couldn't altogether blame Boromir for that. If he found the new power he sensed within his brother unsettling how much more frightening must it be for Boromir himself? Especially with this new self mistrust of his, rooted in what he persisted in seeing as his failure with the Ring. Faramir sighed. But before all else they must win this war, and find some way to settle the problem of Herumor and Near Harad for good and all.


	7. The Muster

Though given leave to depart as freely as he'd come Esarhael of Harad showed no inclination to do anything of the kind but stayed firmly planted in his guest house, appearing unperturbed and courteous in hall for meals and watching the muster of Gondor from the walls.

"He means to take back as much intelligence as he can to his King." Boromir warned.

"He is welcome." Aragorn replied placidly and with more than his usual impenetrability.

The levies from Ithilien were the first to arrive, led by Faramir their Prince. Foot soldiers and knights alike liveried in white with the new moon emblazoned in silver and blue upon their snowy banners. They raised their tents in the Pelennor field where they were soon joined by an equally large contingent from Anorien.

Boromir stood beside Esarhael in the gallery above the Great Gate, as below them King Elessar, his Steward and his Queen welcomed the leader who rode beneath the golden sun.

"Surely that is a lady." Esarhael frowned, peering keenly at the slight, armor encased figure reining in to bow before the King. Gauntleted hands reached up to remove helmet, and with it all doubt as to its wearer's sex. Thick black braids wreathed her head and the small, triangular face, turned upward to Aragorn's gaze was easily recognizable to those watching above.

"Is that not your sister, Idril?" the Southron lord asked curiously.

"It is." Eowyn answered across the speechless Boromir. "She is Princess of Anorien and Wardress of the Northern Fortresses. I thought your folk better informed, Lord Esarhael."

"We had heard something of the kind," he admitted, "but were disinclined to believe it. It seemed too important and perilous a post to be held by a woman."

Eowyn smiled demurely and Esarhael returned it ruefully. "No doubt we should have known better. We have heard of the deeds of the Lady of Ithilien! You Northern women are of a doughtier kind than our own."

"Some of us." said Eowyn.

"Idril is no shieldmaiden!" Boromir blurted, finding his voice at last.

"No but she has proved herself a fine marshal and strategist." Eowyn answered. "And she has skilled captains to lead her troops in battle. Never fear, Brother, she has better sense then to risk herself upon the field."

"I am glad to hear that." he managed.

"It is no secret, Boromir." Idril said calmly as her women relieved her of cuirass and pauldrons. "Indeed it is a well known fact. I saw no need to inform you specifically."

He shifted irritably on his camp stool. The sun shone through the white canvas ceiling of Idril's pavilion and its hundreds of tiny golden suns scattered small, bright reflections over the tapestry hangings and rich rugs. Scarlet and white silks rustled as Idril seated herself in the chair opposite.

"I am surprised you don't sit on the Council as well." he grumbled.

"I do." she replied and shrugged. "Knowing what the decision must be I chose to delegate my Steward to attend in my place while I got on with the muster."

He shook his head in wonder. "Three ladies on the Council of the Realm. There must have been an almighty fuss over that!"

"There was. But Elessar has rather different ideas on such matters and paid it no mind."

"Well I cannot argue with his choices." Boromir conceded, good humor returning. He smiled at her. "Forgive a big brother's astonishment at finding his little sister has become a woman, and an able one at that!"

Idril did not smile in return. "I am not your sister, Boromir."

He blinked, suddenly uncomfortable again. "Well, no. Not in blood -"

"I do not feel towards you as a sister and never have." she continued, her fixed golden gaze becoming unnerving. "Faramir is indeed the brother of my heart. But my feelings for you are of a very different kind."

Boromir felt his face heating. "Faramir said...that is I never saw -"

"Of course you didn't." she sighed. "You are wise about Men my quondam brother but all too ignorant of Women. I blame myself, I never tried to make you see. It is a mistake I do not mean to repeat. And so I say plainly to you, Boromir son of Denethor, I love and desire you and have since before I was a Woman."

He sat speechless, red faced, churning with unfamiliar feelings. She took pity on his confusion. "You need not answer me now, Boromir. Think on it, get used to the idea and when you are ready we will talk again."

It was a dismissal. Boromir was not sure whether it was relief, disappointment or dismay or all three in his heart as he bowed himself out of her presence. He trudged up the seven circles and into his brother's study where he found Aragorn smoking meditatively in the window embrasure and Faramir behind his desk taking notes. Both looked at him in mild surprise, which increased as they took in his expression.

"I have been talking to Idril." was all he had to say.

A grin spread over Faramir's face. "I told you so did I not, Brother mine?"

"You did." Boromir sat down heavily in the nearest chair. "What am I going to do?" he asked plaintively.

"Marry her." Faramir answered promptly.

Boromir flinched.

"You could do much worse, my friend." Aragorn observed mildly, eyes sharp upon him. "Idril is a wise and able woman." suddenly the eyes held a twinkle. "And she could use a good captain."

"She does go through them quickly." Faramir agreed dryly.

"I can't marry anyone!" Boromir burst out desperately. "I don't know who I am anymore, or where I am going!"

"Perhaps Idril can help you find out." Aragorn said gently. "Give yourself time, Boromir. You may find the idea more appealing then you do now."

"It's not that - she's lovely and desirable any man can see as much." he said, still a little frantic. "But she's my little sister!"

"No she's not." Faramir said.

"So she reminded me." Boromir agreed miserably. "But that's how I have always thought of her."

"Give yourself time." Aragorn repeated, the twinkle reappearing. "But I warn you my friend, Idril is a true daughter of the Kings. If she wants you, she will have you. Best you get used to the idea."

The muster of Gondor continued. The Rohirrim arrived on the seventh day, and the levies of the Northern Kingdoms with them led by the only one of their Kings Boromir had not met. Turambar of Rhudaur looked enough like Aragorn to be his son and Boromir noted both how the youthful king was cheered from the walls and that his welcome from the Princess Aredhel held more than cousinly warmth.

"I think I see a solution to the problem of the succession." was his conclusion.

Faramir nodded agreement. "So many of us think. Turambar is not the next in blood but he is the best known of the three Northern Kings in Gondor. If he and Aredhel should wed the Council would accept her as heir."

"Which she already is in Northern eyes." said Boromir, and smiled wryly. "The Princess certainly seems inclined that way, what of Turambar?"

Faramir shrugged. "Who knows. He is as hard to read as Elessar himself."

"Or you, my brother." Boromir grinned.

"Or you." Faramir returned seriously. "You are not as transparent as you used to be, Boromir."

"Not even to myself." he said grin vanishing.

He couldn't get away from talk of marriage. Two of Eowyn's handmaidens had decided to wed their betrothed before the army marched. Normally Boromir would have approved wholeheartedly but now the bustle of preparations rubbed his nerves raw. One day Faramir followed him as he fled the busy, chattering women to pace the house's tiny courtyard.

"There's no need for such distress, Brother." Faramir said soothingly standing still in the doorway as Boromir prowled the paved walks like a trapped lion. "If you don't want Idril just tell her so. She will survive."

His brother's only answer was an agonized glance. Faramir relaxed. "Ah, I thought so. You do want her don't you?"

Boromir came to a full stop, closing his eyes. "It's not a matter of what I want! It has been foreseen that I will die in battle. How can I marry knowing that?"

Faramir snorted contemptuously. "So any of us may die, including Idril herself for all she leads from the rear. That is no reason, my Brother."

Boromir sighed heavily and say down on a bench facing the doorway. "I was not sent back to live an ordinary life, Faramir. How can I involve any woman in so strange a destiny as mine has become?"

"And what destiny is that?" his brother asked softly.

Boromir swallowed hard. He hadn't wanted to discuss this with anybody - even Faramir - for fear he wouldn't be believed. But far worse if he was. "I am an Emissary, Faramir, sent as Mithrandir and his brother wizards were to fight the Shadow."

"But you are a Man." said Faramir, almost as if he wasn't quite sure.

Boromir closed his eyes again. "That's why. This is the Age of Men, our enemies will be Men. Only a Man with the power of Men to shape his own destiny can succeed against such foes."

Slowly Faramir nodded. "Yes, I have sensed that. The old Powers are fading. They are not gone, not yet, but their time is past."

"Exactly." Boromir agreed, relaxing a little now the worse was over.

"Which explains you own power." his brother mused.

Boromir sighed. "I suppose so. I dimly remember being taught by Elrond, the Lady of Lorien and even Mithrandir," in frustration, "but I can't quite recall what they taught nor why I agreed to learn."

"No doubt you had good reasons. Perhaps you should trust yourself, Brother."

"I just hope I can." he answered grimly.

"Getting back to Idril." Faramir continued calmly. "I don't quite see why being an Emissary precludes marriage."

"Mithrandir and his fellows didn't."

"Mithrandir and his fellows were not Men." Faramir countered calmly. "Tell Idril, I don't think she'll be dismayed."

"I know she won't be." Boromir shook his head. "No, Brother. I must know more about myself and my mission before I consider binding her to me. Every day brings new memories. Soon, I hope I will remember all and know what I must do."

"Very well, Brother," Faramir grinned suddenly, "but remember yours is not the only will involved. Don't underestimate Idril, I beg you!"

Boromir grimaced. "Believe me I don't. But she has kept her distance as she said. The next move is mine."

"Clever Idril." said Faramir.

Boromir's was not the only troubled spirit in the Citadel. Esarhael watched the power of the Reunited Kingdom muster with sinking heart. Near Harad had no sure allies now that the Dark Lord who'd bound them into a fearful union was fallen. Indeed the Tribes of the Khand finding the western lands bulwarked against them, had turned their raids southward, pillaging the borders of the Harad states. Oh they did not need this war! But they had it, and they would lose it and what would become of his country and his King then?

Sunk in such gloomy meditations Esarhael stood in the embrasure at the tip of Minas Anor's stone pier, gazing down at the cooking fires twinkling like earthbound stars in the Pelannor as day faded to dusk. So distracted was he that he failed to notice the Western King's presence until the tickle of a pleasant, unfamiliar scent made him look aside. Elessar leaned against the parapet beside him, relaxed and companionable as an old friend, casually waving aside Esarhael's bow.

"Boromir tells me you are a good Man." he said unexpectedly.

Esarhael blinked, then smiled ruefully. "I see you share his directness. A trait of the West?"

"Perhaps." grey eyes shading to blue, not unlike Esarhael's own save for a glimmer of a strange inner light, studied him gravely. "This war was forced upon me."

"I am very aware of that." the Southron answered between clenched teeth. Herumor had made him partner in an act of treachery, a wrong he would neither forget nor forgive but had no hope of revenging.

"I have retaken only those lands that are by right Gondor's." said the King. "I desire not one rod more. A free Harad bound only by friendship is my wish, not an empire."

"Your ancestors thought differently." Esarhael retorted.

Elessar nodded. "So they did. But I am not my fathers. I chose to learn from their mistakes, not repeat them."

"You call empire a mistake?" the Southron asked startled as well as interested. Surely all Kings desired to extend their power?

"Most certainly." Elessar settled himself on the bench beneath the parapet, looking up at him. "I come of the Kings of the North you know. Our aims and our methods were rather different from those of our Southern kin." he smiled faintly. "We accepted the allegiance of the Men of Middle Earth only when it was freely offered, and made for them kingdoms where they might live by their own laws rather than ours."

Esarhael tried not to look skeptical and failed.

"You doubt me," Elessar sighed, "and I cannot blame you. Men judge by what they know and you do not know the Northlands, nor me."

"I have heard -" Esarhael began, stopped.

"Tales of necromancy and sorcery. I know." Elessar's brow crinkled as he asked. "Do you believe them?"

"I saw your army of specters on the Pelannor Field." Esarhael said stiffly. "And I have seen Boromir."

Elessar blinked. "Boromir?" then he smiled ruefully. "It was not I who brought him back."

"So he said."

"You do not believe him?"

For the first time since the conversation had begun Esarhael's confidence wavered. "It is hard to." he admitted.

"Boromir is not a liar."

"I know that well."

Elessar leaned back against the parapet, folding his arms comfortably and radiating serenity as Esarhael floundered in his uncertainty. "You are not like Herumor!" he blurted at last.

"Thank you for that." the King said dryly.

"Your Western directness is catching." Esarhael agreed ruefully, regaining his composure.

Elessar laughed, then sobered. "The powers I wield are lawful," he said quietly, "part of my nature that I could not change if I would."

"Because you are not a Man."

The King stood but his face was sad rather than angry. "No, Esarhael, I am a Man but not just Man. It is not a comfortable thing to be and one of the least comfortable things about it is the effect it has on other Men." he walked past the Southron to descend the steps of the embrasure, turning at their foot to look up at him, his eyes gleaming silver though there was no moon to reflect in them.

"You are a Man of Westerness, Esarhael." he said softly. "Descended from the Fathers of Men who fought the Great Shadow at the side of the Elves. Your ancestors and mine defeated and drove back Sauron from these lands, if only for time. The yoke of the Shadow will be your kingdom's doom unless you fight it instead of me. One Man must start it, must stand against the Darkness and inspire others to do likewise. Be that Man Esarhael. You the strength. Use it!"

Then he turned on his heel and was gone. Leaving Esarhael alone in the growing darkness to struggle with his doubts and his fears.


End file.
